Lost in gutter talk, 
The history books 
Suggest it was his two brothers
Who took him to the fair
At Longford Park
Boasting of dead fireflies
Instead of fish in little bags,

And follicles of lights 
In the ghost house
Almost invisible from 
The roller coasters
Descending from the sky
Like space rockets 
Replacing sledges.  
 
Crossing the meadows
Blanked in snow 
With echoing la...

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A very very different version of Collaborating in Memory can be found last year on my blog but i just wanted to let you all know that's its been published on Creative talents unleashed

https://creativetalentsunleashed.com/2016/11/26/collaborating-in-memory-andy-n/

All been good, this should be in my next full length book 'From the Diabetic Ward'. 

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Catching her tears in the breeze
From one row of headstones to the next
Some days you would see her ghost
Walking up and down
Like a private on patrol.

Entwined with the sun
Just before sunrise 
Creeps over the hill
Cascading into a silent film
As the shadows sank away

Repeating his name over
Like a broken tape machine 
Caught up in a tangle 
Of half forgotten prayers
In at least...

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(Two short poems from my recently released book 'the end of summer' (https://www.amazon.co.uk/End-Summer-Andy-N-ebook/dp/B01LY7YR9K)
  
I 
  
Summer will come again 
and the rain will stop spraying 
the air like spilled pepper. 
  
Leaves will stop crunching on the floor 
and sleet will stop reducing 
your shoes to tears. 
  
The wind still stop slamming 
shut your back door 
and pop...

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As advertised previously, my second full length collection ‘The End of Summer’ has now been released by Goya Press.

Originally released in a hard to find limited print on demand run last year, this new version specially released by Goya Press contains new artwork, specially re-edited by the author and new additional material , the book was written over a five year period from 2011 to 2016.

Q...

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Stealing Inspiration 
  
Sometimes I dream 
of the foghorn near the docks 
whistling like a forgotten friend 
in your letterbox 
walking home from work 
after I had left for the last time, 
  
Remember the ringing of the last tram 
freezing  in the air 
like a photograph 
before breathing too quickly 
ain’t you glad you walked away? 
  
Sometimes I dream of 
the chime of the clock 
...

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Hidden.

Some of course 
saw it coming
(so they said afterwards
in interviews) 

Hidden.

Forgotten voices
lost in the shadows 
of the trains

Writing secret prayers
looking into the eyes
of the executioner.

Fritz’s dad said they 
all knew about it
but excluded it 
from their thoughts

Transcending their guilt
into a helpless form 
of suffering, 

Walking around the next...

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Returning to emotions
After running away 
For two weeks (or 10 days)

The tide hasn’t changed across
Where I used to sit
Once upon a time, 

Faint little lighthouses
Turned on at 7.45am
And turned out with a shrug at 4pm,

Compliance cultures 
Or moaning about life
Below the poverty line, 

Blackened chairs
Mourning in desolation
Grasping the lights,

Watching the sun
Leap acr...

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Standing there like stranger at a bar

There are three Irish fairies

Tied together

Which clearly want to go home,

Three football figures

Of now retired Spanish footballers

And two pigs

Both of which I am convinced

Are odd little jokes

Friends got for me travelling,

A Edward Sissorhands figure

Which I accidentally nicked

At a boo...

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catching silent pictures
across circular fields 
suspended like a hammock
dangling between trees 

floating in the mood
your camera snaps truths
feathered within 
the early morning light  

splicing feelings
beyond grey templates
and mashed up feelings
dreaming of silence

building footprints
in the shadows 
or the mud across
each picture took

writing a different
kind of poet...

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Part 16 (A)

Broken inside out
The man in black
Waited outside central library

Hands lined deep
Inside his pockets
Until he nearly gave up
And went home

Smoking cigarettes
Repeatingly in a broken loop
Until another man
Turned up
His face lined
Like a rowboat

Coughing frantically
Knowing that their meeting
Would affect
More than
Just a few lives.

Part 16 (B)

Late...

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Dear all;

Had a busy month on this month with the Goya Press annoucement earlier on this month and also having a hand with the Write Out Loud Stockport specials (as mentioned elsewhere on Write Out Loud) but the next big project I am doing is Ghost Story III as part of NaPoWriMo (National Poetry Writing Month) following on from the last two years, Ghost Story and Ghost Story II.

Like last ye...

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Laced in memories
There was a love hidden here
Trampled under
old newspapers
Buttoned down
Inbetween Stations.

A beauty laid low
Separated by the past
Drifting across
Winter coloured hills
Freckled in a shellshocked
Fading sunlight.

There was a tenderness
Blowing open mouthed
Crumbling across time
Reflecting how much
They would have
Once been in love.

Colouring in the sky
...

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Crazed with worry
Clothed in a bloodless air

Not one body has been found
In the river
Or the lakes 
Moving shadow like 
On the land

Nor 2

But 85.

85 bodies pedal soft
Conscripted with cold drew
Over 6 years,

Cloaked in the ship canal
And all over 
Manchester’s water works
In deafening silence

Kneeling in deep breath

Crossing canal gates
In the Undercroft 

Or past...

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Soaked in a long brown coat
Curved over the corner
Between the outer rail
And the tunnel wall, 

It was never established
Whether he tried to kill himself 
Cushioned by the reletness rain
Stalled in motionless confusion

Spaced up and down the tunnel
Picking money like nettles 
Wrapped in ripped hankies
Bordering the shadows

Or had it been something else 
With months and months of
...

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